


Sub/Text

by Teigh



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 22:10:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14506533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teigh/pseuds/Teigh
Summary: Wesley, living in the margins.[This occurs after Graduation (BtVS), but before Parting Gifts (AtS).]





	Sub/Text

 

** Sub/Text **

 I.

You are being followed.

Some days you watch

And catch sight

Of a dark shape behind you.

Sometimes you hear

Snatches of conversation,

A whisper you can almost identify.

_Il n’ya pas de hors-texte_.

 

Clues are dropped behind you,

Snakeskins willfully shed:

Concentric whirl and loop

Of fingertips cast

In diner grease and motor oil.

New moon sliver

Of a thumbnail pared free

And curled behind a motel toilet.

Twist of hair

Bound in faded ribbon,

Within an creased envelope

(It dwelt in your watch pocket for a decade).

 

Scars on the tabletop,

Marine varnish

A rind on overripe fruit

Splits and reveals

The index of history.

 

Knock the corners,

Scuff shoe leather

Grant the guise

Verisimilitude;

The phantom lingering

Touch of paper against palms

Drags you from pre-

Occupation.

 

You are scavenger hunting;

Hoping for riddles

But finding explanations

That ill fit your frame.

Your new jacket still leaves your wrists exposed.

 

II.

Order turns, angles away;

Gyroscope’s contra-spin.

Instead of delving in

Or down ribbons of hardened earth

Instead of balancing

A compass rose and returning

To those great iron gates,

You dervish out, a rogue

Electron fleeing its atom.

 

At night, you cannot sleep

Re-count constellations instead of sheep

(You have never enjoyed the pastoral idiom).

Body swathed in anonymous cotton

The mind prevails,

Returns to texts.

Plundering your inheritance,

You grasp metaphor-

Wishing to be Chiron

_O wise one, o teacher of heroes_

You forget morals;

This story wrought of prodigal wounds.

 

It is a mindful blindness-

You have chosen to no longer believe

In ghosts.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, posted on livejournal, in 2006. Also accessible on dreamwidth, [HERE](https://teigh-corvus.dreamwidth.org/36585.html).
> 
> This is partly in response to the call for more BtVS poetry. Also: Il n’ya pas de hors-texte- "There is no outside-of-text".


End file.
